


The Path

by wallmakerrelict



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallmakerrelict/pseuds/wallmakerrelict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sabriel's father Terciel is a young Abhorsen-in-Waiting when his aunt, the Abhorsen, brings him along on a strange mission: to escort a young girl to a town in the North. Even as Terciel begins to develop feelings for the girl, he becomes aware that this mission is not as simple as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aunden

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 9/2009 - 1/2010

Terciel had never been to Aunden before.

Usually he would have been glad to get out of the stuffy library of Abhorsen’s House, but the rainy season had made for a miserable journey. After more than a week of riding, during which time Terciel was never truly dry, they had arrived at the coast. Now instead of simply soaking into his clothing, the rain blew horizontally, actively seeking out the gap between his hood and his neck. The town of Aunden had materialized out of the sea-fog and sat crouching on the cliff. It was less than an hour’s ride away, but the cold, salty rain made every moment a torment. Terciel turned to his companion, whose horse had stopped alongside his, and tried to hide his frustration.

“If we had taken the Paperwing, we could have been here days ago,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact instead of petulant.

The figure beside him was almost shapeless under a billowing cloak, but a single hand drew back the drenched hood to reveal the face of a woman. Though past her prime, she was of formidable stature, and her dark eyes were hard and merciless against the snowy canvas of her skin. But her smile cracked the façade, and one could see that she was not without warmth. She returned her nephew’s stare, looking into eyes that were mirrors of her own. “Flying?” she said, “In this weather? Neither of us is so skilled at weather-working for that, Terciel.”

“It just seems like an awfully long journey just for us to escort one person to the next town over,” he sighed, “Especially for someone of your importance.” He nodded to the sword and bells concealed beneath her cloak.

The Abhorsen kicked her horse back into motion, forcing Terciel to follow her. “None of us are so important that we can ignore a person in their time of need,” she said, “The Abhorsen must serve the people, not herself. Or himself, as the case may be.”

“But there must be any number of people able to protect a lone traveler,” protested Terciel, “Family or friends, or even mercenaries in a pinch. Why you, when you live so far away? And why me, for that matter?” Though Abhorsen often brought him along when she went on missions all over the Kingdom, they were usually calculated to challenge and educate him. For such a mundane task, it would have been better worth his time to stay in the library at Abhorsen’s House and study.

Abhorsen paused before answering, “It’s time you learned what it means to carry the title of Abhorsen,” she said, “It isn’t always glamorous battles and good prevailing over evil. Sometimes our job is, as you say, mundane. But we do what is required of us.”

“This job wasn’t required of us,” said Terciel, “You chose to take it.”

“Ah, but does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?” said Abhorsen, her lips creeping into a smile once more.

Terciel groaned. He had heard that line before. It was a powerful mantra from the Book of the Dead, but Abhorsen liked to use it when there was something she didn’t want to explain to her young student. He stopped arguing and kept his head down until they reached the town. By then, it was beginning to get dark.

Once they were among the scattered buildings that had once been a grand city, Terciel was mildly surprised to see his master steer her horse into the stables of an inn. He had assumed that some hospitality would be forthcoming from the person they intended to escort, but apparently they would be staying in a rented room. After leaving their horses in the care of a drenched and surly stable hand, they went inside.

A fire crackled in the hearth, and the warmth that filled the room immediately eased some of Terciel’s temper. He hadn’t been out of the rain since Chasel, and it was a welcome relief. But he had no time to relax before a weary-looking man approached them, his hand outstretched. He reached not for Abhorsen’s hand, but her forehead.

“You understand, ma’am,” he said, pausing with his fingers just shy of her skin, “Can’t be too careful these days.”

“Of course,” she replied, and reached out her own hand. Each touched their fingers to the other’s forehead, and two Charter marks glowed brightly. Though satisfied with the purity of Abhorsen‘s mark, the man seemed troubled, as if he had just forgotten something. Then he eyes came to rest on Abhorsen’s collar, where a width of her blue surcoat with silver keys was showing from beneath her riding cloak. Suddenly wide-eyed, he seemed to re-appraise the lumps under Abhorsen’s cloak at the level of her chest and waist, obviously guessing what lay underneath.

“You know me,” Abhorsen observed.

“I saw your predecessor’s work in Navis, when I was a little boy,” he admitted, “He slew an Adept there, and a score of his Shadow Hands. I wouldn’t know his face, but I remember the coat.” He wrung his hands, searching for a way to speak his mind without insult. Finally he said, “Is there some sort of… trouble? I’m honored to host you, of course, but if there’s some reason you’re here… Some danger… I’ve got a family, you see.”

“You needn’t worry,” said Abhorsen quickly, “We are merely passing through.” The man’s relief was visible. He showed them to their room, refusing to take Abhorsen’s money. He didn’t bother checking Terciel’s Charter mark, but scuttled away from the pair as soon as he politely could.

Abhorsen began stripping off her soggy layers of clothing, laying them out on the floor to dry. “Tonight we rest,” she said, “Tomorrow we will locate our charge and set out for Sindle.”

“What sort of person is it?” Terciel wondered as he peeled off his coat and armor.

“You’ll find out soon enough," mumbled Abhorsen sleepily. After disrobing down to a linen shirt over a cotton undergarment, she strapped her sword and bells (which were curiously dry) back onto her body. Then she rolled herself into bed, kicking the blankets loose around her feet so they wouldn’t trip her if she was attacked in her sleep. Terciel copied her, arranging the sheets and placing his pipes within easy reach of his bed. His linen and cotton underclothes were wet through, but he had nothing drier to wear, so he flopped onto the mattress and tried to ignore the cold, sticky sensation of the fabric clinging to his skin.

After some time, long after Terciel assumed that Abhorsen was asleep, she spoke. “People fear me now,” she said quietly, “They used to welcome me. Now I am only a herald of bad news.”

Terciel repeated what he had heard Abhorsen herself say before. “The Dead are getting stronger. People fear the Dead, and you go where they are. The people don’t fear you; they only fear what your presence means.”

“Yes,” Abhorsen mumbled, “The Dead grow stronger. And the Regency grows weak, as do we. The line of Abhorsens is no longer what it was. I’ve tried to train you as best I could, but under the circumstances…”

Abhorsen’s voice had become uncharacteristically soft and sentimental. Terciel remained silent, not wanting to interrupt.

Abhorsen shifted in her bed, gazing at her nephew’s face in the moonlight. To Terciel, her face was backlit, shrouded in shadow, unreadable. “There’s no alternative anymore,” she said sadly, “Our paths are chosen.”


	2. Andrael

Abhorsen awoke at first light, and the slight noise she made woke Terciel as well. The long journey behind them didn't seem to faze her, but Terciel could have slept until noon if he had been allowed. Knowing that Abhorsen would wake him roughly if he tried to go back to sleep, he rolled out of bed onto aching legs and began to dress himself. His clothes were not quite dry, so he drew a Charter mark for heat and let it evaporate some of the dampness.

Abhorsen frowned at him. "Don't wear yourself out," she said, "They're only going to get wet again anyway."

"It was only a little mark," said Terciel, slipping into his tunic and armor, "And it's worth it to be dry even for a few minutes." He drew his surcoat over his head. Unlike Abhorsen's, which had an intricate pattern of silver keys, his coat had a single silver key emblazoned across his chest, like the servant-sendings at the House. It was the coat of an apprentice. He was also set apart from his master by the quality of his weapons. Abhorsen's sword oozed power, and the Charter marks running its length were so strong that they were visible through the scabbard. Terciel carried only a shortsword, and though it was also Charter-spelled, the level of the enchantment was leagues lower. Abhorsen swung her bell-bandolier across her chest; Terciel clipped his set of pipes, which were weaker sisters to the bells, to a pocket in his belt.

They hid their insignia and weapons beneath their cloaks and went downstairs for breakfast. The man from the night before served them porridge, seeming glad to see them go. When he wasn't looking, Abhorsen left a few coins on the table for the food, and with it enough to cover the room and stables for their horses.

"Is this all some sort of test?" asked Terciel suddenly as they went out onto the street. The rain was less than the day before, but still present as a driving, stinging mist.

"What do you mean?" asked Abhorsen, genuinely surprised.

"The last time you were so secretive about a mission was two years ago, when you left me in the Great Sickle Wood to fight that gang of lesser Dead," Terciel said, "When I finally got home, you said you had been testing me, to see if I could adapt to the situation without warning. Is this the same thing?"

Abhorsen narrowed her eyes. "You're not a boy anymore, Terciel," she said, "It's been a long time since I resorted to petty trickery to force you to learn a lesson. You can't always look to me when you're in trouble and hope that it was all my plan. Sometimes I have no plan. Sometimes I know no more than you. And if I'm being secretive, it is because I have genuine secrets. I promise you that I am not testing you to see how long it takes you to unravel them."

They were silent until Abhorsen suddenly stopped at a small shack across from a blacksmith's shop. "We're here," she said, and went up to knock on the door to the shack.

At first Terciel thought no one was home, but after a long pause the door cracked open just enough to reveal a sliver of a face and a single brown eye. "What do you want?" came a voice from inside the door. Though it was husky with apprehension and disuse, it was distinctly female.

"I am Abhorsen," said Abhorsen, and Terciel was surprised that she had given up her identity so easily. "Are you in any trouble, or do you have need of assistance?"

The door finally swung open to reveal a girl of about Terciel's age. Though she may have once been pretty, her eyes were now red and sunken, and her layers of clothing did little to hide how painfully skinny she was. No locks of hair fell from beneath her woolen cap; her head was shaved. "How did you know?" the pitiful sight demanded.

"I have ways," said Abhorsen enigmatically, "Why don't you let us in and tell us what you need?"

The girl hesitated only a second before shrugging and opening the door wide. Either she was unaware of the dangers of inviting strangers into ones home, or she didn't value her safety very highly. "I might as well," she said, "It's not like the whole town doesn't know."

The house within was dusty and bare. The girl sat cross-legged on the hard floor, and Abhorsen and Terciel joined her there. There wasn't a stick of furniture to be seen. When the girl spoke, it was in a neutral tone, but Terciel could hear layers of grief and desperation beneath.

"My parents died," she said, "I've been trying to make my way, but it's been… difficult. I've sold everything but the house, and I ran out of food over a week ago. I have relatives in Sindle who would take me in, but there are Dead all along the road." She fell silent, letting her situation speak for itself. If she stayed she would starve, and if she left she would quickly fall prey to the Dead.

Terciel was watching Abhorsen. The girl's story seemed to be as new to her as it was to him. So when she had said that she knew no more than him, she had been telling the truth. But then how had she known that the girl needed their help?

"What's your name?" asked Abhorsen.

"Andrael," said the girl, a glimmer of hope now appearing in her eyes as she seemed to appraise her strange visitors.

"Andrael," said Abhorsen, "I am going to leave my Abhorsen-in-Waiting with you here. I will go retrieve our horses, and return shortly. When I return, we will set out for Orchyre. It will take us four days. After we re-supply there, we will follow the road for another four days to Sindle. You needn't fear the Dead along the roads; we will protect you." She stood, but did not leave. She leveled the piercing gaze that Terciel knew so well at Andrael, and waited for some form of response.

Snapped out of her trance-like despair, Andrael's face became more expressive. Terciel could see intelligence burning there, weighing her options, assessing the risks, and forming an opinion of Abhorsen. If she had questions or fears, she kept them to herself, and said only, "Yes."

With a nod, Abhorsen left the two sitting in the empty room alone.

Terciel couldn't think of a single thing to say to Andrael, but she quickly filled the silence. While she was guarded with Abhorsen, she was clearly more curious about the quiet young man.

"Abhorsen-in-Waiting is a bit of a mouthful," she observed, "Do you have a name?"

"Terciel," he said, rummaging in his pack. Since she had explained her emaciated state, he was eager to help however he could. He pulled out a chunk of hard bread and held it out to her. It was simple, bland, traveling food, and Terciel was sick of it, but Andrael's eyes lit up as she lunged for it.

She was silent for a few minutes while she gnawed on the crust, swallowing so fast that she coughed and gagged. When she finally managed to choke some down, she looked up again and smiled. "Thanks," she said, "Terciel is a good name. 'Terce' means 'third' in Latin. Are you a third child?"

Terciel was a bit taken aback at Andrael's sudden talkativeness, and an honest answer was startled out of him. "No," he stammered, "Second. I have an older brother."

Andrael nodded sagely. "Whoever named you didn't know Latin then," she said, still munching the bread between words, "My Dad knew Latin. He was really smart."

"How did he die?" Terciel asked. It wasn't a particularly tactful question, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. And he was curious.

"Taken by the Dead, out in the mountains," said Andrael, "He was educated in Belisaere, you know. People say he was a Free Magic sorcerer, but they're just jealous because he was smarter than all of them. When he died, they even said that he had been raising the Dead, and that his own creations had killed him." Her face showed equal parts morbid fascination and frustrated anger.

"Of course that wasn't true," she continued, "But it didn't stop everyone in town from refusing to hire me, so I couldn't make any money unless I sold all my things. Honestly, I think they were all hoping I would make the journey to Sindle alone and they wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. Or that I would just starve to death. They've been watching me pick food out of the gutters for a week and still no one would help me. I suppose I'm lucky you and your mother came along. What's her name anyway?"

"She's not my mother," said Terciel, who was getting used to Andrael's chattiness. He supposed that she must be starved for attention after living alone and being ignored for so long. "My mother was her sister. And she told you her name: Abhorsen."

"But you're the Abhorsen-in-Waiting," Andrael argued, "So it's not a name; it's a title."

"It's a bit of both," Terciel explained, "But I don't know what her name was before. She's been Abhorsen since before I was born. I asked her once, and she said that it had been so long since she used her given name that she had forgotten it, but I don't think she meant that." It was strange to talk about his aunt to another person. Though he had traveled all over the Kingdom, Terciel had rarely had the opportunity to speak with someone his own age.

Andrael popped the last of the bread into her mouth. It would have taken Terciel half an hour to chew through it, but she had finished it in no more than a few minutes. She eyed his bag, clearly hoping that there would be more. "I suppose you'll be just the same when she dies and you become Abhorsen," she said.

"I don't think so," said Terciel, "Besides, she's tough. I have a long time yet before she dies."

"Hmm," said Andrael wistfully, "I thought the same thing about my parents." The hairs stood up on Terciel's arms at that notion, but Andrael was already changing the subject. "So how did she know to come find me anyway?"

"She wouldn't say," said Terciel, "But that's just the way she is. She doesn't give anything up easily."

Andrael frowned. "I don't like people like that," she said, glancing at the door where Abhorsen had exited as if she could still be outside listening, "Makes you wonder if they have something to hide."

It troubled Terciel to hear someone talk about Abhorsen that way. To him, she had always been infallible. "You can trust her," he assured Andrael.

Andrael's smile was complex and not entirely happy. "I don't seem to have much of a choice," she said.


	3. Asking

Aunden disappeared back into the fog as the three riders began following the long inland road across the Winding Post peninsula. Andrael rode behind Abhorsen, her arms clutched around the older woman's waist and her face turned away from the driving rain. The air grew colder as they went north, and the rain began to turn to sleet. Soon with would be nothing but snow, and the Dead would be able to move more freely. The Greater Dead were unfazed by rain, but it did wonders to keep minor nuisances in their caves and holes.

"Not that I would go back," said Andrael to Terciel, "But at least in Aunden you didn't have to worry about the Dead. I keep expecting something to jump out of the bushes at any moment."

Terciel nodded while trying to keep his horse walking parallel with Abhorsen's. "It's because Aunden is by the sea," he explained, "The Dead hate the sea."

"I just hope your Abhorsen knows how to use these things," she said. Her hands, which were entwined in Abhorsen's cloak at the level of her hips, began to fidget with the bell bandolier. When she touched the clasp that held Astarael in place, Abhorsen gently but firmly moved her hands away. "I get it," sighed Andrael, "Not allowed. I don't suppose she lets you play with them either."

"Of course not," said Terciel, "They're very dangerous."

"But you must practice sometime," Andrael insisted, "Since they're going to be yours one day."

"I have these," he said, drawing his pipes.

"So cute!" laughed Andrael, "How do they work?"

Andrael's conversation held Terciel spellbound. He had never heard anyone question Abhorsen the way she did, nor had he spoken at such length about himself. Andrael demanded to know all about the pipes and the bells, then questioned him at length about the Charter spells on their swords, then moved on to eliciting a grand description of Abhorsen's House and Terciel's daily life there. Terciel answered all her questions, almost forgetting that Abhorsen was there listening to them. Whenever they went anywhere, it was his aunt that got all the attention, and he was looked down on as little more than a servant. It was intoxicating to meet someone who seemed so interested in him.

"And just the two of you live in that great big place?" said Andrael as Terciel described the House to her, "You must spend all your time just cleaning."

Terciel laughed. "We have Charter sendings for that," he explained.

"Still," she said, "Sendings can't talk. Is it very lonely?"

"Sometimes," Terciel admitted, and he thought he saw Abhorsen shift uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye, "But the sendings have enough personality without being able to talk. Besides, there's also the Wallmaker relict."

"Wallmaker relict?"

Terciel wanted to explain all he knew about the strange, ancient creature, but he knew that its true identity was a closely-guarded secret entrusted only to the line of Abhorsens. He knew he had already said more than he should, and he could feel Abhorsen's eyes burning into him even as she was looking the other way. "Just another servant of ours," he said, and it was technically true.

They made camp in a stand of low trees. They weren't much in the way of cover, but they were the only substantial vegetation on the entire plateau, and Abhorsen hated camping in the open. Andrael ran off into the shrubs to fetch firewood, and Terciel began unpacking their bedrolls and some food for supper.

Abhorsen kicked out a small fire pit, then sat beside it pensively. "She doesn't like me," she said, sounding a bit put out.

"Should she?" Terciel replied, "You're not exactly the easiest person to get to know. You raised me, and sometimes I feel like I don't know you. Besides, you've never cared before what people thought of you."

"Well, I feel I deserve more than to be ignored for the entire trip," said Abhorsen, her face darkening momentarily, "Especially when I'm sacrificing my… time and effort… to keep her safe."

Terciel was about to speak up in Andrael's defense when a startled scream reached their ears. The Abhorsen and her apprentice stood as one and raced toward the sound of trouble, drawing weapons as they went.


	4. Attack

"Terciel! Wait!"

When they had made camp, Terciel had taken off his cloak and surcoat, and now he was down to his light armor over a leather tunic. But Abhorsen was still in her riding clothes, and the rain-heavy fabric weighed her down. Terciel quickly outstripped her. Ignoring his master's calls, he sprinted in the direction of the scream, whispering Charter marks for speed and strength under his breath.

Another scream rang out, this one angry rather than surprised. Guided by the sound, Terciel could just make out a shape in the darkness. Flailing arms, kicking feet, two bodies grappling in the brush, and, for an instant, the silhouette of a rotting head against the sky. Something Dead.

He drew a Charter mark for light as he ran and cast it over the scene. The Dead thing had Andrael pinned on the ground, and she was fighting tooth and nail to keep its rotting jaws away from her throat. Her lips were drawn back in a feral snarl, and every piece of exposed flesh was marked with shallow cuts from the brambles on the ground. The two fighters ignored the sudden light, so intent were they on their battle.

"Anet! Calew! Ferhan!" Terciel shouted, his panicked mind only able to remember the most basic of attack spells. Silver Charter-blades flew true and sank into Dead flesh with a wet sound. The creature flinched, and Andrael managed to plant her foot on its chest and kick it off of her. As she scrambled away from it, Terciel turned towards it and swung his sword.

He missed. For such a decayed body, the Dead thing was surprisingly agile, and it neatly sidestepped Terciel's attack. While Terciel was off balance, the thing grabbed the blade of his sword, ignoring the Charter marks that flared up and burned its skin.

"This one bites!" the thing laughed through a rotting mouth, and it yanked the sword toward it. Still unsteady, Terciel was pulled forward with it. He would have to let go of his main weapon, or be drawn straight into the creature's jaws.

But then Andrael reappeared, this time wielding a rock the size of two fists. Her eyes wild, she slammed the rock into the back of the creature's skull, and Terciel was able to get his feet under himself and pull his sword free. The creature was still standing, but there was a sizable dent in its head where the bone had caved in. It probably would have been a fatal blow, if the thing had been alive.

"You're just babies," the Dead thing growled, the words barely intelligible, "With your sticks and stones. I'll make you watch as I eat your hearts! I'll…"

But its tirade was cut short by a deep, clear note of sound that pierced through the darkness. Confused, the creature tried to run and found that its stolen body would no longer answer to it. Held in place, it watched as a woman stepped into the circle of light. Her black hair was wild, the silver keys on her coat seemed to catch the light like jewels, and in her hand she held Saraneth.

"Abhorsen!" the Dead thing whispered, all the fight gone from its voice. It knew what lay in store for it.

Without a word, Abhorsen drew Kibeth and rang it all in one motion. Terciel would have struggled to control the tricksome bell, but Abhorsen didn't hesitate, and the bell rang true. With quiet surrender, the spirit left its rotting home and sped across the boundary into Death. It had not been a particularly strong revenant, and Terciel knew that with Kibeth's expertly-played music in its ears it would walk all the way through the Ninth Gate.

Abhorsen turned her gaze on the two children, the fierceness of battle still in her eyes. "The next time I tell you to wait," she said, her voice deceptively calm, "You would do well to mind me."

"He saved my life!" Andrael protested. Though her face and hands were bleeding, and her whole body shook, her voice was still strong and willful.

Abhorsen said nothing, but her eyes softened and she suddenly seemed very tired. Carefully replacing her bells, she turned back to camp without a word. Terciel followed, adrenaline still making his ears ring. He put a hand on Andrael's shoulder to steady her, and she leaned into him with an exhausted sigh.

They didn't bother with a fire, but went straight to sleep. Because Andrael had no bedroll, Terciel offered his. Andrael didn't argue,. She crawled into the bedroll and was asleep almost instantly.

"I'll take first watch," said Terciel. Abhorsen nodded. Then, after staring at him seriously for several seconds, she removed her bell bandolier and handed it to him.

"As long as you're guarding us," she said, "You might as well have something better than your pipes."

"A-are you sure?" he stammered, taking the bells gingerly, as if they might spring from their fastenings and ring out at any moment.

"You have more than enough training to use them," Abhorsen said, "And it's time you got used to wearing them. You'll be Abhorsen one day, after all."

"Not for a long time," said Terciel, but he draped the bandolier over his shoulder anyway. Abhorsen was not a lenient master, and loaning him her bells was the highest of compliments. She went to sleep without a word, but Terciel saw the way she clutched her sword beneath her blankets, as if she might strike with it at any moment.

Hours later, after the moon had risen high to glow through the thin layer of clouds, Terciel was beginning to nod off when something tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and almost cried out, but it was only Andrael. As spent as she had been after the fight with the revenant, she was now fully awake and focused.

"Sorry I scared you," she said.

"I should have been paying attention," Terciel admitted. He was glad Abhorsen hadn't seen how close he had been to falling asleep. Especially after she had entrusted him with the bells.

"I…" Andrael began, blushing, "I wanted to apologize for the trouble I caused today. I shouldn't have wandered off."

"It wasn't your fault," he said.

Andrael bit her lip. "Maybe, but I still feel pretty useless," she said, "If you hadn't come, I don't know how long I could have…"

"You were holding your own," said Terciel, "And don't forget, you saved me too."

"Well, I can't always count on a convenient rock to be lying nearby," she said, some of the humor coming back to her voice, "And besides, I got really lucky. I'd like something more reliable. Like those Charter-blades you summoned. Could you teach me those?"

Terciel hesitated. He had never been put in the position of teacher before. He certainly knew the theory well enough, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to explain it to Andrael. "Are you a Charter Mage at all?" he asked.

"No," she said unapologetically, "I'm baptized, so I have the mark, but I was never trained as a mage. Even if I had been, no one would have taught me combat magic. But I'll work so hard to learn it! Oh, Terciel, please say you'll teach me!"

From the determination in her eyes, Terciel believed that she would be a good pupil. "Okay," he said, "I'll explain on the road tomorrow, and we'll practice when we next make camp. But get some sleep for now, okay?"

Terciel's hand was resting on the ground. Andrael put her hand over his and pressed it, beaming her gratitude. It may have been the remaining adrenaline from the scare she had given him earlier, but he though he felt his skin grow warmer. "I won't let you down!" she said before scampering back to her bed.

Some time later, Abhorsen stirred and joined Terciel at the edge of camp. She held out her hand, and Terciel handed her back the bell bandolier before taking his turn to sleep.


	5. Anet

As they rode, Terciel tried to recite the same lessons that Abhorsen had taught him as a boy, only in condensed form. "The Charter," he said, "Is a unifying language that describes the world and everything in it. Like any language, it can be spoken or written, but it can also be represented with music and movement. Each mark represents something, and some of the distinctions can be very subtle. For instance, the Charter mark for the north point of a diamond of protection is related to, but distinct from, the mark for magnetic north. The more marks you know, the more they can be used in conjunction with others, and the stronger your spells will become. Charter magic can range from single marks, which are like words or simple phrases, to strings of marks, like a sentence. The strongest spells are made up of countless marks, held together by Master marks, and they can be as complicated as a book or a poem. They are functional while also telling a story."

"I know all that," said Andrael, waving her hand dismissively. She was more comfortable with horseback riding after a day of practice, and she no longer had to hold on to Abhorsen's waist to stay upright. "Get to the part about the spell you used to wound that thing from last night."

"Impatience does not lend itself to the study of Charter Magic," Abhorsen snapped, "Understanding the whole is as important as understanding the parts. Someone your age with no prior training is lucky to find a willing teacher, so don't take anything Terciel tells you for granted."

Chastised, Andrael fell silent. Terciel stammered as he began again, "A-all right. Well, what I used last night was a set of three marks. You'd usually start with something easier, like single marks for light or heat, but this one is pretty simple for a combination. I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly. We'll start with just one mark: Anet." He held up a scrap of cloth with a Charter mark scribbled on it in charcoal.

"Anet is stronger when you use her with her sister marks, Calew and Ferhan, but you should practice with her alone at first," he said, "Memorize the mark. Don't worry about doing anything with it; just hold the image of it and what it means in your mind. Try to block out everything else. When we make camp tonight, you can try to cast it."

"Anet," muttered Andrael, taking the cloth gingerly to keep from smearing the ash. She studied the shape intensely, and during the rest of Terciel's lecture she continued to murmur its name under her breath, never letting it stray far from the forefront of her mind.

The road was flat and easy, and though it was cold it was no longer wet. The little band made good time, and Abhorsen allowed them to make camp early enough to have a fire and a decent meal. As they ate, they huddled close to the fire. The sun took what little warmth there was with it, and eddies of snow were beginning to swirl in the breeze. Terciel didn't miss how the dark circles under Andrael's eyes had disappeared, and how she ate normally instead of choking in her haste to fill her belly.

"Ready to try?" said Terciel suddenly. Andrael obviously knew what he meant, because she excitedly stood and pointed a finger at the nearest tree.

"Anet!" she shouted. Nothing happened. She stared at her finger as if it had betrayed her. "But I remembered the mark!" she wailed.

"It's not that simple," said Terciel, laughing a bit at her consternation, "You're just thinking of the shape and saying the word. You have to learn to tap into the power behind it. Remember, it's not just a word; it's part of the Charter, and it stands for something."

Andrael frowned in concentration, mulling over Terciel's words. She took a deep breath. This time, instead of pointing, her hands began to spontaneously trace the symbol Terciel had drawn for her, and the power of the Charter welled up around her in response to her effort. "Anet," she said, and this time a chip of bark flew off the tree with a hollow noise, leaving a small dent.

"I did it!" she gasped, her voice becoming high-pitched with surprise and joy.

"Very good!" Terciel cheered, "Keep practicing."

Andrael beamed at Abhorsen, who said nothing and looked wholly unimpressed. Under her humorless glare, Andrael quailed and Terciel saw her retreat back a little into the apathetic, despairing emotionlessness in which they had found her. He found himself resenting his aunt. He knew from experience that getting praise from her was like trying to draw blood from a stone, and it had long since ceased to bother him. But Andrael was taking it personally, and it made it harder to draw her out of her shell. He didn't like to see her unhappy.

He nudged Abhorsen with his foot, and when she looked at him he met her eyes with such aggression that she had to look away. "Not bad," she finally said to Andrael

A hesitant smile returned to the girl's face. "Let me stand guard tonight," she said, "Since I didn't take a turn last night. And that way I can stay up and practice."

Terciel saw the wheels turning in Abhorsen's head. Andrael wouldn't be a match for any Dead that might attack, but at least she could raise the alarm if something were to intrude so Abhorsen could fight it off. And she knew that both she and Terciel could use the extra rest. She relented with a curt nod and went to her bedroll.

Terciel followed suit, but it was a long time before he was able to get to sleep. Every few seconds, like clockwork, came the dull thud of metal on wood, like a hatchet taking a wedge out of a log, and Andrael's whispered, "Anet! Anet!"


	6. Able

"Anet! Anet! Anet!"

Terciel woke in pitch darkness to the sound of Andrael's voice. But it had changed since dusk: notes of urgency and fear had cracked her steady rhythm. And the sound of Charter-blade on wood had changed to the all-too-familiar squelch of impact with rotting flesh.

"Anet!" Andrael's voice shrieked, "Anet! Terciel, help me!"

Now fully awake, Terciel sprang to his feet. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the dying fire, he saw a revenant like the one from the night before advancing on Andrael. But instead of being overtaken, she was holding her ground and casting attack after attack at her opponent. Her weak casting couldn't hurt the revenant, but each impact did make it stagger a bit, and kept it from continuing into the camp.

But Andrael couldn't keep it up for long. Terciel could see that after so many Charter marks in such a short time, her limited stamina was nearly spent. He grabbed her hands, stilling their frantic sketching of Anet, and she slumped with exhaustion. Now unimpeded, the revenant shook off its wounds and ran towards the pair with a roar of triumph.

Terciel was ready. He held the pipes to his lips and blew a long, clear note into Saraneth. It bound the revenant strongly, and the creature stopped its charge just short of grasping Terciel's throat.

He wondered why Abhorsen, who was usually so quick to wake and fight, hadn't destroyed the creature at the first sign of trouble. He looked to where she had been sleeping and saw her fully awake, crouching and scanning the edges of the camp. Slowly, his death-sense awakened to what she was already aware of: a half-dozen Dead encircling the camp.

But these were no ordinary revenants, holding on to a stolen body by their own power. There were threads of stronger magic within them. They had been created by a powerful necromancer. "They're Hands!" Terciel said. Abhorsen nodded.

"What?" demanded Andrael, who was still only aware of the one Hand that Terciel had bound.

"We're surrounded," Abhorsen informed her calmly, "Don't panic. Terciel?" He looked up just in time to catch the bell bandolier Abhorsen had thrown him. His jaw dropped. Allowing him to wear her bells while on watch had been almost a symbolic gesture. Giving them to him in the middle of a battle was an unprecedented show of trust.

He was about to protest, but the Hands were already entering the circle of light cast by their dying fire. Andrael gasped, and dropped back into a casting stance, her exhaustion pushed aside. Terciel threw the bandolier over his shoulder and ran his hands over the bells. Saraneth was the most reliable, the favorite of Abhorsens, but he knew he wasn't skilled enough to bind six Hands at once. He settled on Ranna, ringing it carefully with two hands. Ranna was a safe choice, but even it could be tricky. Even though Terciel tried to keep the bell's power focused, he felt Andrael slump against him, suddenly barely awake. Even Abhorsen yawned and held her sword two-handed to keep from dropping it. But most importantly, five of the Hands dropped to the ground like sandbags. Only the one Terciel had bound with Saraneth remained on its feet, paralyzed.

Terciel replaced Ranna, only then allowing his hands to begin shaking. He had faced this many Dead at once before, but always with Abhorsen fully armed beside him. Somehow, when she wasn't wearing her bells, Abhorsen seemed diminished, as if she perhaps wouldn't have been able to take over if Terciel had failed.

But of course that wasn't true. Even without weapons Abhorsen was a powerful mage. She showed as much by stepping forward and sketching out advanced Charter marks for binding, silence, and final death. She cast them at the five prone bodies, then delivered a coup-de-grace to each with her sword. Their bodies destroyed, the Hands' Charter-bound souls would be quickly carried deep into Death.

Terciel tried to hand back the bells, but Abhorsen held up her hand, refusing them. With practiced ease she cast a large diamond of protection around the entire camp, including Andrael and the remaining bound Hand. "Follow me," she said to Terciel, and closed her eyes. The air around her crackled with cold, and her body became stiff. She had gone into Death.

"I'll be back soon," Terciel promised Andrael. She was still struggling to stay awake with Ranna's spell lingering in her ears, and she was clearly bewildered by the sudden turns of events, but she nodded bravely. Terciel took a deep breath and stepped into the cold river after his master.

He opened his eyes on a gray landscape. Water tugged at his feet, but he was familiar with the First Precinct, and it was easy to resist the pull. "Are you ready?" said a voice. It was Abhorsen, who was standing just downriver.

"What are we doing here?" he said, "Andrael is alone back in Life."

Abhorsen looked almost confused for a moment. "We're going to find out who sent those Hands, of course," she said, "Surely you didn't think we would just keep traveling after such an attack without trying to discover its origin?" Terciel blushed. It hadn't even occurred to him. Of course, everything had happened so fast…

"Andrael will be fine," Abhorsen added, "That's why I cast the diamond before we left her. Now, which bell will you use?" She gestured to Terciel's left, where the Hand had stood in Life. In Death, only the soul remained, and it was warped by its time in the river and by the bindings of its master. It was only a shadow, almost transparent in the dim light. He fingered the bells uncertainly.

He wanted to ask Abhorsen to take the bandolier back and do it herself. Though he had long coveted the bells, using them in their true owner's presence was strange. He knew he was only being tested, but he felt like a thief. But Abhorsen had made up her mind, and asking her to take the bells back now would only seem like weakness. Terciel turned to the bound shadow before him.

The soul had long lost its ability to speak, so Terciel began to draw Dyrim to restore it. Abhorsen cleared her throat. Terciel hesitated, his hands hovering over the bells, and only then did he notice that the shadow was twisting and writhing, fighting against his binding spell. He drew Saraneth and rang it once to renew the binding. The shadow fell still.

More confident now, Terciel held Saraneth left-handed and drew Dyrim. Turning the handle in a slow circle, he rolled the tongue around the inside of the bell to produce a high singing sound. The shadow responded by folding in on itself to form a mouth, but all the came out was incomprehensible gurgling. Terciel froze, hoping that he hadn't made a mistake.

"The necromancer that animated it wiped its memories," Abhorsen prompted, "It's forgotten how to speak." Terciel nodded, now understanding, and replaced Dyrim in his right hand with Belgaer. Another difficult bell, Terciel had struggled with Belgaer in the past. But he mustered his confidence and his concentration, and it rang true.

The shadow's choked noises slowly became recognizable syllables, and then words. "Free me!" it begged, "I fought death before, but I would embrace it now if I could be free of this half-life."

Terciel looked to Abhorsen, but she said nothing. So he spoke to the spirit, "I will, I promise you. But first you must tell me who you serve."

The thing was only too eager to answer. "A necromancer. I don't know his name. He summoned dozens of us in secret, in a workshop in the mountains. But something happened. He died."

"Then you are following orders that he gave before his death?" Terciel asked.

"No," said the shadow, "He didn't stay dead. Simple enough for a necromancer to resist his own end. After that, he took us all and began moving north through the mountains. He meant to go somewhere new and carry out some plan, but I don't know where or what. Forgive me, it's so hard to remember."

Terciel almost responded to the pitiful voice by releasing his binding, but Abhorsen finally spoke up to ask, "Why did your master send you to us? He must have known that six Hands would be no match for the Abhorsen and her apprentice."

"We knew nothing of the Abhorsen," the shadow said, "Our orders were to capture the girl."

Terciel saw the same astonishment that was on his face reflected on Abhorsen's. "Why?" he demanded.

"I don't know any more!" the shadow wailed, "Please, let me go before he binds me anew!"

"Get rid of it," said Abhorsen, already walking back toward Life.

"But we have to know why it was after Andrael!" Terciel shouted, but Abhorsen had already crossed the boundary. He suddenly felt very alone, standing on the featureless plain with only the shadow for company. But the weight of the bells against his chest was a comfort, because he knew that there was almost nothing in the First Precinct that he could not defeat with them. He mused that Abhorsen must feel the same mixture of confidence and loneliness every time she walked in Death.

As Terciel drew Kibeth, he wondered why Abhorsen had suddenly given him such responsibility. Loaning him the bells, insisting that he use them in battle, having him conduct an interrogation, and now leaving him alone in Death. It was nothing shockingly new - he had used the bells before, in controlled situations, and he had certainly been in Death alone many times - but something about the tone and circumstance of it made Terciel uncomfortable. It was almost as if his aunt were letting him do her job, and while he knew that he would one day be Abhorsen, he was not exactly eager to make the transition.

The soul that had once been the Hand was now gibbering uncontrollably with fear. There would be no more information forthcoming. Abhorsen had been right; it was time to let it go before its master sensed its defeat. Otherwise, the necromancer might seek it out in Death, find out what it had told them, and put it in a new body to continue its servitude. The thought clearly terrified the soul. Terciel readied Kibeth to walk it to its final rest.

Ringing Kibeth was harder than he anticipated for a bell he knew so well, and he suddenly realized that he was exhausted. He had rung five bells in quick succession - more than he ever had before. The only bells that remained in their holsters were Mosrael and Astarael, the forbidden bells. It was such a complete lesson that it was almost as if Abhorsen had planned it. He concentrated harder as he finished ringing Kibeth in an angular figure-eight, and the sound was pure. The shadow collapsed into the water, its mouth and all form gone, and as a dark spot in the river it drifted easily through the First Gate.

Terciel replaced his bells and turned to go. He felt a rush of warmth as he pushed back through the wellspring of the river into Life, where Andrael was staring worriedly at him. He shifted his stiff limbs and the thin sheet of frost over his crackled as it broke.

"He's okay!" said Andrael, sounding relieved and almost surprised.

Abhorsen was dragging the bodies of the Hands into a pile outside of camp. "I told you he'd be back soon," she said, not even looking up. She whispered and made a quick motion with her hands, and the whole pile of corpses went up in a blaze of Charter-fire.

"I don't understand," Andrael pouted, looking back and forth between the two, "Back from where? Where did you go?"

"We'll explain everything," said Abhorsen, striding back to her apprentice who was shivering from exertion and nerves. She held out her hand, and this time it took Terciel a moment to realize that she was waiting for him to give her bells back. As their hands touched, she held his fingers for a moment and smiled at him. From Abhorsen, it was high praise when she said, "Well done."


	7. Admit

"The Abhorsen is a necromancer who is also a Charter mage," Terciel began. The three of them were sitting around the fire. Though they were all tired, and it was in the small hours of the morning, they stayed awake to fill Andrael in on what had happened that night. "As such," said Terciel, "We can walk in Death, just like any necromancer. The difference is that instead of doing so to recruit dead souls to do our bidding, we put those souls to rest. That's what we were doing just now - following those Hands into Death."

Andrael nodded sleepily. "Of course," she said, resting her forehead on the heel of her hand, "I remember now. We all learned those myths and nursery rhymes about the bloodlines. I should have realized. It's just… I wasn't thinking straight. You were both so still and cold, and it felt like you were gone for such a long time…"

"I'm sorry," said Terciel, "But those were Hands, which means they didn't just attack us at random. They were sent by a necromancer. We had to find out everything we could, which meant we had to follow one into Death. I didn't want to leave you alone without explaining, but…"

Andrael held up her hand, stopping him. "No, you did the right thing," she said, "You can't take time in the middle of battle to explain things to me. I was fine." But Terciel wasn't convinced. He imagined what it must have been like to be suddenly alone, your only companions and protectors suddenly comatose beside you, not knowing when or if they would return or if enemies still lurked in the shadows. Andrael rubbed her arms as if trying to shake off a crawling sensation, and gave Terciel a forced smile. "So what did you find out?" she asked, apparently trying to change the subject.

Terciel was about to reply, but Abhorsen beat him to it. "Not much," she said, "Just that its master sent the six of them after us and then started traveling. It didn't know where or why, so that doesn't really help us. Not surprising, really. Spirits that have been held as Hands for a long time are often degraded beyond repair. We were lucky to learn what we did." She shot Terciel a brief glance, and he refrained from adding what Abhorsen had left out: that the Hands had been after Andrael.

Andrael pressed her lips together and stared at Abhorsen as if she suspected the lie. But she couldn't maintain her intensity while her eyelids were drooping. "Fine," she said, "I'm going to bed. Just one more thing - Terciel, I want to tell you something." She mustered one last glare to throw at Abhorsen. "Alone," she added.

Abhorsen's eye twitched, but she nodded stiffly. "Don't go far," she warned.

Not knowing whether to be curious or apprehensive, Terciel followed Andrael into the trees. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot of Abhorsen, Andrael turned and placed her skinny arms around his neck. They stood there, slightly awkward, for several seconds until Terciel recovered from the initial shock and put his hands behind her back, pulling her closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. The stubble on her scalp scratched his cheek, and her fingers weaved themselves into his hair. He felt her body seem to melt against him as she sighed with exhaustion and relief, and for a moment he thought she had fallen asleep on her feet.

But then she spoke. "I didn't realize," she said, "Until tonight how much you mean to me. When you were standing there so still and pale, with your skin as cold as ice… Every moment you were gone I was more sure that something had gone terribly wrong. For so long I've thought that I had nothing left to lose, but the thought of losing you was terrifying!"

Terciel stood stock-still, waiting for her to continue. Was this a declaration of love, or just tired rambling? And why was it so hard to concentrate on her words when her knees were brushing his? Through the layers of sweat and grime covering her after days of traveling, when her head was so close to his face he could smell the scent of her skin, and it was making his breath shallow. What would she say? What did he want her to say?

"I…" she stammered, searching for words, "I don't… I'm not asking you for anything. You're the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, and I'm starting to understand what that means. I know that in a few days you'll leave me in Sindle, and I'll probably never see you again. I've just been alone for so long, and you've been so good to me, and I wanted to tell you that you're probably the only friend I have in the world right now, and I lo… well, just that."

She disentangled herself from him, and there was a cold spot down Terciel's front where his body missed her warmth. He wanted to tell her that she was the only friend he had ever had in the world, and that he wished that she were coming to live in Abhorsen's House with him instead of going to Sindle. But as she had said, he was the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, and love was a luxury he could not afford.

The silence stretched on, and in his desperation to find something to say to fill it, he blurted out, "Abhorsen didn't tell you something. That Hand we talked to in Death - it said that it hadn't come for us. It came for you. I think you're in more danger than we thought, but I promise that we're going to protect you. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Andrael was silent for a moment, and her expressions were many and hard to read. There was surprise there, and fear, but also a kind of nervous acceptance, and Terciel suddenly felt that maybe Abhorsen wasn't the only one hiding things. "Thank you for telling me," Andrael said quietly, chewing on her thumbnail and staring into the featureless darkness. Then her eyes suddenly hardened and she looked back to Terciel. "I told I didn't like her! What's she up to, keeping something like that from me? And she's got more up her sleeve - things she's not telling either of us. She's up to something."

Terciel recoiled as if her anger had been directed at him rather than at his mentor. "All my life Abhorsen has done things that I didn't agree with," he said, his voice suddenly sure and strong, "And every time, there was a good reason. You say you like me better than you like her, but the fact is that the two of us wouldn't last a day out here without her. She's the Abhorsen, and she's trying to help you, so whether you like her or not you have to trust her."

Andrael balled up her fists. "How can I trust her when she won't answer our questions? How did she know where to find me? How did she know I needed help? And why did she come for me? In times like these, there must be more important things for the Abhorsen and her apprentice to do than escort one insignificant girl across the wilderness for days on end."

"I don't have an answer for you," said Terciel, holding out his hands. He didn't say that her questions were the same ones he had been asking himself since before they arrived in Aunden. "But we're not going to get to the bottom of it tonight. It's late. Let's go to sleep." Andrael relented, following him back through the trees toward the light of the fire. But before they entered the camp again she caught his arm.

"I almost forgot!" she said, "After you teach me the next two marks after Anet, will you teach me to make that shield that your aunt put up? That seems like it would be useful."

Terciel smiled as they stepped back into the clearing. "Of course," he said. Andrael returned his smile, flopped into his bedroll, and was asleep almost instantly.

Terciel slipped into Abhorsen's bedroll, letting his aunt continue to stand guard. He slept fitfully and then woke suddenly. He couldn't tell if he had slept for five minutes or hours, because the scene before him was almost exactly the same. Abhorsen sat crouched over the fire in the exact same position he had left her, and Andrael snored softly across the clearing. Abhorsen's eyes reflected the fire, making her look otherworldly. When she spoke, it took Terciel a minute to realize that she was talking to him.

"It's hard to know if I'm doing this right," she whispered, "The future is such a delicate thing. But you have a right to know. Whatever your part in it, you have as much a right to know as I do."

"What are you talking about?" asked Terciel. He usually wasn't so blunt with her, but he was tired of these games. Andrael's frustration had reawakened his own.

Abhorsen's eyes flicked to him, but the fire still blazed in them. "I took you to Aunden because the Clayr told me to," she said, suddenly matter-of-fact, "They told me that there was a chance to restore order to the Old Kingdom, a slim chance, and it all hinged on you and I taking that girl to Sindle."

Terciel was immediately wide awake. "Restore order?" he prompted, eager to learn more.

"To the Kingdom," she repeated, "And to the Charter. The current downfall of the Kingdom stems from the corruption of the Gre… erk… You know." Terciel knew. He had been to Belisaere, and seen the Great Charter Stones broken in that terrible underground chamber. He too had tried to speak of them, and of the ended royal line, and had found that he could not. The Great Charters had become the highest of taboos.

"The Clayr deal in possibilities," Abhorsen continued, her voice dripping with distaste for the Clayr's vague prophecies, "All they have seen for years has been a steady decline for the Kingdom and for the Charter, but just recently they have become aware of a strand of chance stemming from the girl that ends in the restoration of… that which has been damaged. And for some reason, it also involves you, because they were adamant that I bring you along."

"Then I have to keep her safe," said Terciel, "The fate of the Kingdom depends on it."

"That's just it," Abhorsen sighed, "We don't know. It's just as likely that the events that lead to the restoration of the Charter stem from her death as from her survival! Whatever we do, we might be closing off that slim chance, and we don't have any guidance to help us choose. So little is known, and what we do know is…" Her head sank into her hands, and Terciel was shocked to see real despair on her face. He had never known Abhorsen to be so conflicted.

"Did they say anything else?" he said, grasping at straws, "Did the Clayr tell you anything else that might help us?"

Abhorsen looked up, the hopelessness banished from her visage just as quickly as it had appeared. "Yes," she said, "But that is not for your ears yet." She looked back to the fire, but her eyes had gone dark. She suddenly looked very old.

"Some burdens are too much to bear."


	8. Ambush

I'm putting a lot of work into this story, and if you've read this far you've put a fair bit of time into reading it, so I don't think it's out of line to ask for reviews. Good or bad, long or short, constructive or not, I don't care. Just write something. Thanks!

Before setting out the next day, Terciel gave Andrael charcoal sketches of Calew and Ferhan. He thought that two new marks at once might satisfy her, but by midday she was begging for more. They had stopped by the side of the road to eat, and Andrael was demonstrating her proficiency with her new marks.

"Anet! Calew! Ferhan!" she shouted, and faint Charter-blades nicked the tree in front of her. Her casting was weak, but there was no doubt that she had learned the marks. "You see?" she said, whirling around to beam proudly at Terciel, "Now will you teach me the diamond of protection?"

"Slow down," he said, "It's better to master the marks one at a time instead of learning many halfway."

"Maybe if you have a proper teacher," Andrael countered, "But I only have you for another week. I have to learn as many marks as I can now. I'll have plenty of time to practice and get better at casting them once I have a home in Sindle."

Terciel couldn't argue with her enthusiasm, so when they set out again he began teaching her the East and South marks. He had to marvel at the change he had seen in her over the days. The bright, eager girl in front of him was virtually unrecognizable as the sullen, wasted one he had met in Aunden. And this despite two attempts on her life in as many days. It seemed that adversity had only made Andrael stronger.

Even her hair was beginning to grow. The stubble was just long enough that it was recognizable as a vibrant shade of red. Andrael caught Terciel staring and grinned, removing her cap to rub the fuzzy layer experimentally. "People in Aunden cut their hair as a sign of mourning," she explained even before he asked, "But since we left, I've been letting it grow."

"I-It's really pretty," he said, blushing. He saw Abhorsen tense suddenly, and he thought she was about to reprimand him for flirting until he noticed that she was reaching for her sword. Then he heard what she had heard: hoof beats approaching from down the road. "It could just be traders," he said, hoping that he was right.

"What could be?" asked Andrael, still oblivious.

Abhorsen ignored her question and answered Terciel, "Or it could be more Hands. Be ready."

Terciel put his hand on the hilt of his sword and waited. Soon the hoof beats were loud enough that even Andrael had noticed them. Terciel could make out that there were at least three horses, and that they were coming at a fast pace. Then his Death sense twinged, and he drew his sword. Abhorsen drew hers at the same time. "Hands," she confirmed, "And more. Andrael, get down and hide in the trees. We'll take care of this."

Andrael looked at Terciel, alarm in her eyes. He nodded grimly. She had done well for herself in the last two skirmishes, but Terciel could feel the pressure of many Dead riding towards them. This was a fight for the Abhorsen, not for a civilian. "Go," he said, and she slipped off the back of Abhorsen's horse to disappear into the underbrush.

She had gone just in time. The sound of hoof beats reached a crescendo and from around a bend in the road came a platoon of Dead. Three horses each carried a Hand, and a Shadow Hand led them, floating eerily through the air. What Terciel first thought was a black cloud proved to be a swarm of Gore Crows that flapped around the heads of the humanoid Dead like a satanic halo. The lot of them filled the road from gutter to gutter, bearing down on Abhorsen and Terciel like a hurricane of rotting flesh and protruding bone.

While Terciel sat, paralyzed by fear, waiting for direction, his horse shifting nervously beneath him, Abhorsen charged. Her cloak came undone and flapped away, leaving her coal-black hair to flap behind her like a banner. Her coat of blue with silver keys, known and feared by all Dead, flashed its colors, and her sword caught the cold light of the sun as it refracted off the layer of snow that powdered the hard earth. She descended into the fray, ringing two bells in concert with only one hand. She looked like an avenging angel.

Terciel shook off his hesitation and kicked his horse into motion. A Gore Crow that dove for his eyes was cloven in two by his sword before he had even thought to swing it; he silently thanked his aunt for the rigorous training that had left him with such speedy reflexes. But Gore Crows never attacked alone. A portion of the flock broke away from Abhorsen to spin around him, closing in and cutting him off from his master. Abhorsen was busy with the Hands. He was on his own.

He swung his sword wildly, trying to keep the Crows' tearing beaks and claws away from his face. But there were too many of them; he could spend all day hacking at them one by one and never kill them all. Plus, he was getting tired quickly, and most of his swings were missing. The sun was shining through gaps in the trees, and the Crows were using these unexpected flashes of light to their advantage, keeping their prey distracted and partially blinded.

But it gave Terciel an idea. Putting his pipes to his lips, he began playing a tune on Kibeth. Though it was only one pipe, it somehow emitted a series of notes over and over that induced all who heard it to walk. Terciel put all of his concentration and skill into it, willing the Crows to fly up, up, through the canopy that shaded them and into the full sunlight that they couldn't abide. He continued to defend himself with his sword, but now every Crow that dove at him was gripped by his music. One by one, they wheeled into the sky. They flew straight into the sun, the wind disintegrating their frail bodies and the light weakening the magic that bound their soul. Moments later, they began flopping back to the ground, a hailstorm of feathers and entrails.

Soon there were only a few Crows left, and Terciel quickly dispatched them with his sword. He looked to Abhorsen, expecting praise, only to see her locked in combat with the Shadow Hand. He turned his horse to go to her aid, but one of the Hands on horseback broke from the fray to meet him. He slashed at it with his sword, but it reigned its horse in, dancing just out of his range.

"Terciel!" Abhorsen's voice shouted over the noise of her bells, "Catch!" She tossed him something, and as the object flew he recognized it as Saraneth. He caught it expertly, letting it continue its arc so the clapper never touched the sides of the bell, then brought it up with a flourish. No longer afraid, and with the confidence of his victory over the Gore Crows still making him lightheaded, he rang the bell.

The clapper swung, and metal hit metal, but no peal sounded. Only a hollow sound, as if the bell were made of wet wood. Terciel felt as if iron bands were squeezing his chest, stopping his heart and his breath. Saraneth was the kindest, most forgiving of the bells, and it had not failed him since he was a novice. But it had, of all times, failed him now.

While he sat there dumbfounded, the Hand prepared to attack. Abhorsen was shouting something, but to Terciel her voice sounded very far away. There was a ringing in his ears and a slowness to the movements around him. He stared at his hand, at Saraneth, feeling shell-shocked and betrayed. All the confidence he had gained in the last few days drained out of him, and he could only watch in horror as the Hand reached for his throat.

Then a voice pierced the haze of his mind, "Anet! Calew! Ferhan!" Charter-blades flashed through the air and slammed wetly into the head and arm of the Hand, toppling it off its horse and leaving it crumpled on the ground. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Terciel quickly performed a coup-de-grace on the slowly-rising form, using his sword to send its head flying off its shoulders.

He twisted in his saddle, looking for the source of the voice, and saw Andrael poking her head out of the trees and waving encouragingly. As she quickly disappeared back into the snowy brush, he felt a burst of mixed emotion towards her. She was like a guardian angel, giving assistance from the wings while he took center stage. But guilt and shame still wormed in his stomach. His affection and pride warred with the humiliation of having been rescued by a novice.

But he had no time to dwell on his feelings. An angry scream snapped his attention back to the fight, and he turned just in time to see Abhorsen fall from the back of her horse. She had dispatched all but one Hand, who now advanced on her prone form. The ground around them was littered with pieces of Gore Crows, and the corpses of the last Hand and two horses lay nearby, draining their blood into the gutters and staining the snow red. From where Terciel stood, Abhorsen's body seemed to disappear into the carnage, the blood and soil on her mantle becoming one with the earth. The Hand stood over her, its arms reaching down.

"No!" Terciel screamed, kicking his horse into one last desperate dash. He heard the sound of bells, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from his left hand. He was ringing Saraneth, and the Hand suddenly froze as the binding spell wove through its wasted body. It hardly had time to realize what had happened to it before Terciel's sword slammed into its head at the level of its eyes, obliterating its brain and sending its soul fleeing the broken shell back to Death.

"Abhorsen!" he shouted, reigning in his horse. He turned to where she had been lying, fearing the worst, but before that fear could take root she stood and began to brush herself off as if nothing had happened. Terciel swung out of the saddle to land beside her, gaping and stammering, "Are you… I thought you were…" He felt like a little child again, and could barely restrain himself from throwing his arms around her. But look from Abhorsen's steely eyes taught him to control himself.

"I'm fine," she said, snatching Saraneth from Terciel's hand. She held the bell aloft, looking ready to smack her pupil over the head with it. "The next time I loan you my bells," she spat, "I expect you to use them properly." She holstered the bell with an expression that Terciel had come to learn meant she was storing away a more complete lecture for later.

Andrael exploded out of the bushes in a flurry of snow. "Is it over?" she gasped, answering her own question by scanning their surroundings, which resembled a butcher's shop. "Gross," she whispered, morbidly fascinated.

"Our enemy is becoming more daring," Abhorsen declared, businesslike, "To attack in the middle of the day was a stupid, desperate move. But the size and strength of this party was formidable. We may be in for tougher fights before we're safe." She picked her way through the battlefield to retrieve her cloak from where it had fallen. As she swung it back around her shoulders she winced almost imperceptibly. Just before the cloak hid her bloody surcoat, Terciel saw amidst the splatters and smears a long tear surrounded by a deep, spreading stain.

"You're bleeding," he said.

"So are you," countered Abhorsen, pointing. Terciel touched his head and his fingers came away bloody. Suddenly he felt the sting of all the scratches the Gore Crows had put in his scalp.

Andrael began to fuss over him, using one of her mittens to wipe the blood away from his eyes. "You should get these looked at," she said, "They're not very deep, but I'm sure those claws weren't clean."

"Later," said Abhorsen, who had begun to collect their horses from where they had wandered, "The road isn't safe. We need to get to Orchyre as soon as possible. If we ride for the rest of the day and through the night, we'll save a day of travel. Here." At the last, she handed Andrael the reigns of a horse. It had belonged to one of the Hands, and so was not one of the battle-trained horses Terciel and Abhorsen rode. But if it was tame enough to carry a Hand, it would do for any living rider.

Terciel helped her into the saddle, and once she was situated she seemed reasonably comfortable for someone who had never ridden a horse.  
Abhorsen mounted her horse and kicked it into a gallop, and Terciel and Andrael hurried to keep up. Their horses' hooves left bloody footprints in the snow all along the path.


	9. Afraid

The sun was rising when the three riders passed through the outskirts of Orchyre. Terciel was exhausted, and fought to stay upright. The cuts on his head and face had closed up, but he imagined that he still looked frightful with blood caked all around his hairline. Andrael, who was unused to such long hours and demanding work, looked to be almost asleep in the saddle. All three horses were spent, their flanks soaked with sweat despite the freezing temperatures. They had long since refused to gallop and even to trot. They now plodded along dishearteningly, mirroring the fatigue of their riders.

Only Abhorsen still seemed alert. Her eyes and posture never drooped, and she continually scanned the road ahead for traps or further ambushes. But Terciel could see that her face was drawn not with caution, but with weariness and pain. The bloodstain that he had glimpsed beneath her arm had begun to soak through her outer cloak, though the mud and the color of the fabric helped to hide it. He said nothing. Even if he had had the strength to speak, he knew Abhorsen would only deny any discomfort.

They stumbled into an inn and Abhorsen, after paying the startled-looking innkeeper, led her two wards to the set of adjoining rooms they would be sharing. Then she hurriedly kicked them out of the main room while muttering something about a bath.

Terciel and Andrael didn't mind. They wordlessly flopped onto the straw mattresses laid out on the floor and were instantly asleep.

When Terciel awoke, he suddenly felt every ache and pain that his body had been keeping at bay. He couldn't suppress a groan as he levered himself upright. How long had he slept? An hour? A day? A glance out the window told him that it was either dawn or dusk.

Andrael was still asleep beside him, but at his movement she stirred and woke. Her eyes fluttered open, then immediately closed again as she stretched with a grimace. "Oh," she complained, "I never knew I could be this sore. We'd better be staying here for at least a month, because that's how long it will take before I can move my legs again."

Terciel agreed, but said, "Abhorsen doesn't like wasting time. We'll probably only stay for a couple of days."

Sighing her disappointment, she studied his face. "You look a fright," she said, "Let me clean you up a bit." She stood painfully and went to the basin of water that had been left for them hours ago, which was now cold. She wetted a cloth and began to scrub Terciel's face with it.

"That hurts!" he protested as she loosened the scabs over his wounds.

"You're filthy!" she said, holding him still, "If you don't want to get gangrene you'll let me finish."

He sat still while she worked, and the silence quickly became loaded and awkward. Even the roughness of her scrubbing couldn't negate the intimacy of the moment. Her fingers moved in his hair, and her face was bent close over him. Her neck was at the level of his mouth. He found himself keeping still, not to make her job easier, but because he feared that the slightest movement would break the spell.

There was a wet slap as the cloth fell to the ground, but Andrael's hand remained on his head. When neither of them moved after a moment, Terciel forced himself to say, "I thought we weren't going to do this."

"I'm sorry," Andrael whispered, but she didn't move. When she next spoke, her voice began to break. "Are you sure I can't just stay with you? I've never even met my relatives in Sindle. What if they're horrible? And even if they're not, how can I go back to my normal, boring life after all this? I want to learn to fight, and to do more Charter magic. I could be useful. I could even be like a servant; I don't care as long as I can keep learning and keep close to you."

Terciel couldn't think while her hands played with his hair, so he grasped her wrists and moved her down to eye level. But meeting her gaze was even more distracting, so he stood and paced restlessly. Finally he spoke, "Remember when I told you that I had an older brother?"

Andrael nodded, confusion and impatience making he whole body stiff.

"Well, he's dead," said Terciel, "So is my mother. Abhorsen, my aunt, was the oldest of four. She's the only one still alive. Before her, my grandfather was the Abhorsen. His wife died before I was born. So did his two siblings. None of them had particularly peaceful deaths." He paused and let that information sink in. Andrael was silent.

"If I could," he continued, "I would bring you to Abhorsen's House. I think you'd make a great Charter mage, and I'd be happy to have you there. But I have feelings for you too, Andrael, and that's why I have to let you go. Because the Abhorsen does more than walk in Death. We breed Death, invite it. It hovers around us always. People close to us tend to die."

Having found his resolution, Terciel knelt again and took up Andrael's hands. "I don't want you to die," he said.

"I'm not afraid of death," said Andrael, but her voice was weak and unsure.

Terciel was about to assure her that everyone was afraid of death, even the Abhorsens, when the door behind him opened noisily. Abhorsen stood in the doorway, clean and wrapped in a bathrobe. She carried her bandolier and sword belt in her hand, unwilling to part with them even now. "Good, you're awake," she said, ignoring the children's intimate pose and guilty expressions, "Andrael, it's your turn for the bath. The servant-girl is drawing it up right now."

Andrael still looked troubled by Terciel's words, but it was clear that she wasn't about to argue against a bath. She hurried into the next room, unbuttoning her coat as she went. Terciel suddenly realized that they had slept in all their clothes - mud, gore, and all.

As soon as Andrael was gone, Abhorsen turned to her apprentice. She loomed over him, looking as fierce as she had in battle, and Terciel suddenly remembered that she had been saving up a lecture for him. It had had days to brew, and it now seemed to be about to erupt.

"What," she demanded in the voice whose power had commanded countless Dead, "Happened?"

He knew what she meant. His failed ringing of Saraneth the day before had been unacceptable. "I don't know," he said, shrinking under her gaze, "I thought I was in control. For the first time, I was so confident that I didn't even feel scared."

"But you should feel scared!" Abhorsen said. Her voice wasn't loud, but her rage simmered violently beneath the surface of her calm, "You should always feel scared. A lack of fear doesn't mean you've grown up; it just means you're not recognizing the danger. In our line of work we're in danger of death at every moment. Only an idiot wouldn't be scared. Are you an idiot?"

"No," Terciel was forced to answer.

"You need that fear to keep you sharp," Abhorsen continued, "The moment your pride gets the best of you, that's when the bells will desert you. That's when you'll miss something. All it takes is one mistake, one bad day, to kill you. And you can't die, you hear me? You can't die! Even if I were young enough to train another Abhorsen, which I'm not, there's no one for me to train anymore. You're the only one left!"

"I'm sorry," he said through gritted teeth, "But it was just a mistake."

Abhorsen's calm façade finally cracked, and she shouted, "You can't afford to make mistakes! Not when you're the Abhorsen!"

But she quickly composed herself, quashing the fire that had flared up momentarily. Her rage extinguished, she sighed and sat down next to her nephew. "Maybe I pushed you too hard," she muttered to herself, "Or maybe I held you back for too long. You have to be ready, but you also have to be safe. It's so hard to know what to do."

Her voice became kinder as she said, "Mine isn't a life I would wish on anyone, much less my own kin. We pretend to wonder whether the walker chooses the path, or the path the walked, but the sad truth is that we Abhorsens know the answer. Our paths were always chosen for us."

Terciel didn't dare speak. He sat, taking shallow breaths, hoping not to provoke another tirade. He had suffered worse verbal beatings than this from Abhorsen, but somehow it was her quiet introspection that confused and terrified him. He preferred her angry. At least then she didn't seem so old and weak. Already the truth of the matter was beginning to take shape in his mind, but he refused to see it, and it obliged by remaining comfortably amorphous.

Presently, Abhorsen got dressed and went downstairs, and Andrael emerged from the adjoining room happy and clean. Forestalling any further conversation, Terciel immediately took her place and closed the door. After the servant had finished refilling the basin with hot water and gone, he was finally, blissfully alone.

He stripped off his clothes layer by layer, and they were so filthy that he could stand his surcoat against the wall and it would stay in the shape of his body as if it were a mannequin. He would wash them later. For the moment, all he cared about was getting himself clean.

As he tipped the hot water down his back and breathed in the steam, he tried to clear his mind and take advantage of the brief moment of respite. As a child, he had savored such moments, when he could let his worries melt away and forget the rigor of his training, his apprehension of the future, and the pain of loss. But he found that he could no longer do it. His mind kept slipping back to the danger of the road, Andrael, their shadowy foe, and Abhorsen's strange words. They harried him at every turn.

He wondered if this was what Abhorsen had meant. To be a true warrior, he would have no rest. He would have to let go of his pride and confidence, and embrace his indecision and fear.


	10. Ardor

Their clothes and bodies washed for the first time in days, Terciel and Andrael lounged about in robes, reveling in the creature comforts of the inn. They had already slept for almost twelve hours, and Terciel had thought that they might explore the town before dark, but the coziness of their room overcame his curiosity. They were no longer tired enough to sleep, but they were perfectly happy to sit curled up in their blankets and sip the stew that had been delivered from downstairs.

"We slept all day," Andrael noticed, "So we're going to be awake all night and then sleepy again in the morning."

"Don't worry," said Terciel, fishing a chunk of meat out of his bowl, "Orchyre has enough Charter Mages in it that no Dead would dare attack, so we'll be safe here for as long as we want to stay. We'll have plenty of time to get ourselves back to normal."

Andrael spun around on her knees, drawing the blankets in a spiraled cocoon around herself. "What about in Sindle?" she asked dreamily, "Are there many Charter Mages there?"

"Not so many," said Terciel, trying to remember the time he had visited it as a boy, "But it's a walled city, so you should be safe there from whatever is trying to get you."

"That's not what I meant," she said, "I was hoping I'd be able to keep learning Charter magic there."

"Oh," he replied, "Then you might have some trouble with that. There are only a few really good ones, and they don't take apprentices lightly."

"Oh," said Andrael, and she flopped over on her side, taking her wound-up blankets with her. She stared at the wall despondently.

"But you'll be safe," he reiterated firmly.

"I know," she groaned, "But I don't want to be safe my whole life! I want to go with you."

"Adventure isn't as fun as you'd think," he said, trying to dissuade her, "Mostly it's like the last couple of days have been: cold, wet, muddy, and every once in a while you have to fight for your life."

"But you and your aunt would be there to protect me," she tried.

He saw that he wasn't getting anywhere by describing the danger. So he decided to come clean. "It's not just your own life you'd be risking," he said, "There's a Clayr prophesy about you. You're supposed to restore the Charter and bring peace to the Kingdom. So you can't run off with us and get yourself killed."

At that, Andrael shot upright, shedding her blankets. Her eyes were as wide as those of a frightened doe, or a hungry cat. "What did the prophecy say?" she demanded, "Tell me the exact words."

So Terciel told her about the night that Abhorsen had revealed the reason for their journey, in as much detail as he could recall. Andrael tapped a fingernail against her teeth distractedly, looking so excited that Terciel thought she might catch on fire.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me right away!" she said, "I'd be mad at you if I didn't have so much else to think about." She was silent for a few moments as she turned the wording of the prophecy over in her mind.

Finally, pleadingly, she said, "But how am I supposed to do all that? I'm not that smart or strong. I've never even been to Belisaere. And I only know five Charter marks! They must have got it wrong."

Terciel wondered if he had done the right thing in telling her. He tried to backpedal. "I don't know," he said, "They said it was only one possible future out of many. You shouldn't worry too much about it."

"I shouldn't worry?" Andrael said, her voice getting louder, "How can you tell me something like that and then tell me not to worry?"

Feeling panic beginning to creep up on him, Terciel held up his hands defensively. "That's not what I meant," he sighed, "Look, we'll talk to Abhorsen about it. I'm sure she'll have some good advice. Besides, you don't have to make any decisions yet. You can think about it for as long as we're here in Orchyre."

But then, as if fate could hear him speaking, Abhorsen burst through the door. Even before she spoke, the look on her face made Terciel's heart sink.

"Sindle is under seige," she declared, "We're leaving right away."

Though Andrael protested that it was dark out, and that if Sindle had taken care of itself for this long then it could wait a couple more days, she soon learned that when Abhorsen said "right away" she meant exactly that. Within an hour they were dressed, packed, and back in the saddle. Instead of taking the roads, which would have been a four-day journey, Abhorsen opted to take the less-travelled paths, cutting the travel time in half. Her reasoning was that whatever they might encounter in the wilderness wasn't nearly as dangerous as what she knew was waiting for them at Sindle.

"We don't know much," she had explained as they packed, "Trade stopped coming from Sindle over a week ago. Traders who have passed nearby say that the gates to the city are closed, and the walls are surrounded by Dead."

"How many?" Terciel had asked, weighing their odds.

"Accounts vary," Abhorsen had answered, "We won't know what we're up against until we get there. But the Dead are the least of our worries. It's almost certain that they are being lead by this necromancer who has been hounding us. Hands I can deal with, but their master may prove a challenge."

As they began to ride out of Orchyre, Terciel felt very lucky for the conditioning he had undergone for most of his life. Though tired, he knew from experience that he body was nowhere near its limit. Not so for Andrael, who was clearly regarding the road ahead with trepidation. Terciel felt sorry for her, with so much on her mind and so much demanded of her frail body. She looked miserable.

Abhorsen, in contrast, looked as fresh as when they had left the House. Her clothing was clean and her eyes alert. Only Terciel, who had known her for so long, would ever have noticed the slight stiffness in her riding posture that signaled a well-hidden pain.

He finally spoke up. "How is your wound?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Abhorsen replied, and that was the end of that.

They rode in silence, Terciel struggling against fatigue and Andrael nearly sobbing with exhaustion. Their brief rest in Orchyre had only served to remind them of the comforts that they were missing. It made their return to the road all the more disheartening.

The day stretched on interminably, and Terciel felt that time was fragmenting and playing tricks on him. He couldn't tell if they had been on the road for hours or for days. Andrael had slumped forward and fallen asleep with her head resting awkwardly on her horse's neck and her hands still clutching the reigns white-knuckled. She grimaced and mumbled unhappily in her sleep, as her horse obediently continued to follow Abhorsen's.

Intermittently, low whistling would fill the air. Abhorsen was weaving wards around the three of them, her own brand of magic acting as a warning. The Lesser Dead who would have descended on any other traveler in minutes gave the group a wide berth. Terciel could feel them moving in the dark trees, parting down the middle of the path ahead of them to avoid Abhorsen's approach. Some ventured closer than others, and Terciel even thought he could see shapes flitting about in the shadows just out of reach. He tried to be alert, to account for each one, to gauge their strengths and anticipate an attack. But these were no Hands – just weak revenants – and even banded together they were no match for Abhorsen. So they kept their distance.

In what seemed like a lifetime and no time at all, it became dark. Abhorsen cast an enormous diamond of protection around an entire clearing and tossed her pack on the ground. Terciel dismounted and put a hand on Andrael's shoulder where she was still sleeping in the saddle, the horn digging into the pit of her stomach. Despite how uncomfortable she looked, she was reluctant to move. It was several minutes before she finally slid off her horse and stood shivering miserably.

"No fire tonight," said Abhorsen, "Eat something cold and get some sleep. We'll leave at first light. I'll take first watch."

With a groan, Andrael laid out her bedroll and crawled inside. When Terciel joined her on the ground, she rolled over so that she was pressed against him with the bedrolls as the only barrier between them. Feeling the shape of her body under the layers of insulation made Terciel's blood rush, but it was clear by Andrael's shivering that she had no ulterior motive. She was just trying to get warm.

"Is it always like this?" she mumbled as she tried to burrow deeper into her coat.

Terciel wanted to encourage her, but in truth he remembered all too well when he had felt as terrible as Andrael was feeling. When he was twelve, he and Abhorsen had ridden to Belisaere without once making camp, eating and sleeping on the road. When he was fifteen, he had repaired a piece of the ward on Abhorsen's house, holding the immensely complex Charter spell in his mind for twelve hours without eating, drinking, or moving. When he was sixteen, he had spent a week in the woods fending off almost continual attacks, never sleeping for more than an hour at a time. He was no stranger to exhaustion, and what it could do to one's mind and body. "Yes," he admitted, "Sometimes worse."

Instead of despair, Andrael's eyes flashed with defiance. "I can endure worse," she declared. With obvious effort, she suppressed her shivering. "I've made up my mind, Terciel. I'm not staying in Sindle. I'm coming with you."

Terciel winced. He had hoped that the difficult day of riding had disuaded her. "It's not your choice to make," he said, "It's too dangerous, and I won't let you do it. You can't throw your life away for love."

"Who said anything about love?" she replied scathingly, "I want to be someone, to do something important. I want to learn Charter Magic and swordplay. And I want to do it with you, because Terciel, I… I do love you. I do. But it's more than that now. If you won't have me, then I'll do it on my own. You can leave me in Sindle, but I'll just leave again on my own."

Terciel squeezed her shoulder, trying to calm her. "On your own?" he protested, "Where will you go? You've seen what it's like on the roads. You'll die."

"Then you'd better let me come with you," she countered, "So you can protect me."

"I can't protect you forever," he said.

"You won't have to! I'll get stronger and smarter. I know I'm not much use right now, but I know I can get better. And one day I'll be the kind of person who can fulfill that prophecy you told me about, because Terciel, saving the Kingdom? That's… it's… wouldn't that be worth it? Wouldn't it be worth dying for? I'd rather die for something like that than live a long, worthless, boring life. And I'm not just saying that. I've thought about it. If I could do something that important, I wouldn't be afraid to die."

"This is morbid," said Terciel, "You're tired, and you're not thinking straight. We'll talk about this later."

Andrael shrugged his hand off of her shoulder and turned to face him, hissing, "Don't you patronize me! By the Nine, we'll talk about this now!"

The fierceness on her face stopped Terciel cold. She was right. The first time she had begged to be brought along, it had been a naïve request. But this was different. This time she understood what she was asking. No, not asking; she was telling him how it would be. He smiled. "Well," he said, "I guess you haven't given me much choice."

Andrael beamed, but suddenly her face darkened. "What about Abhorsen?" she asked.

Terciel glanced at the silent figure across the camp, her back to them and her eyes staring, unblinking, into the darkness. "She might be hard to convince," he admitted, "And there's no use talking to her now, when her mind is on the fight we're walking into at Sindle. But when that's all over, I'll talk to her. I swear I'll bring her around." And he believed himself. Now that he had agreed, now that the prospect of having Andrael by his side for more than just another few days had become a tentative reality, he was suddenly prepared to defend that reality. Now that he had her, he wasn't going to give her up.

"I love you, you know," she said, her sleepy eyes blinking themselves slowly closed.

"I love you, too," he answered, and he rolled forward to brush his lips hesitantly against hers. She responded by snuggling against him, their limbs seeking to entwine against the barrier of their bedrolls. Happiness overtaking the misery of exhaustion, they fell asleep facing each other, both breathing the same cold air.


	11. Adversary

"I don't see anything." Andrael's eyes scanned the perimeter of the walled city of Sindle, nestled below them. The thick forests had given way to a bleak landscape of craggy rocks covered by sheets of snow and ice with twisted, stunted trees dotting the few patches of earth. The three stood in the shadow of a rocky outcropping, observing. Andrael obviously observed the white expanse before them, a perfect unblocked passage into the town where rest and warmth surely waited.

Terciel observed the girl, even as he tried to stay alert to his surroundings. The final days of riding had been difficult for everyone, and he was especially proud of her for bearing up so well. Time and time again he had seen her falter, believing that she was at her limit, only to find new reserves of energy that she hadn't known she possessed.

Abhorsen's trained eyes, however, rested on the landscape north of the town, where stands of trees and uneven ground created shelter from the sun and wind. She answered Andrael, "You will soon. The Dead are laying in wait to ambush us should we show ourselves. And they'll be out in force at night, when they're strongest." She glanced at the gray sky and added wistfully, "It's almost dusk."

They stood silently for several minutes, the two youths waiting for Abhorsen to give some order. But she merely stared down at the city. Terciel could almost see the cogs turning in her mind. Why was she hesitating? He watched as she closed her eyes and began mumbling to herself. He couldn't tell if she was reciting Charter marks or a prayer. Shifting awkwardly and wondering if he shouldn't remind Abhorsen of where they were, and of the urgency of the situation, he tried to listen to her whispered litany. He couldn't make out a single word. Then Abhorsen's eyes suddenly snapped open, full of their usual spark and certainty, and she said quite clearly, "…For that is not their path." She turned her intense gaze on her apprentice and smiled, adding, "Wait here." Before Terciel could respond, she was off, galloping down the rocky scree and towards the town.

"What's she doing?" wondered Andrael nervously as she and Terciel watched her go.

Terciel shrugged, trying to hide his own dubiousness. "She must have a plan," he said.

As Abhorsen reached the great gates of the city, which were closed tight against the undead enemy lying in wait outside, something approached her. It was a cloaked figure, on foot, strolling the perimeter of the walls. It had been hidden around a corner, but now it strode forward to meet the woman on horseback who challenged it

Terciel and Andrael could only peer tensely around their rocky hiding place, trying to stay in shadow and also see what was happening. The two figures below appeared to be speaking to one another. Abhorsen gestured calmly with her arms. The other paced slowly around her horse, forcing her to turn in a circle so as not to expose her back. Both their movements became more animated, and Terciel was sure that they must be arguing heatedly.

Then, with a crack like a whip, Abhorsen threw off her riding cloak to reveal her coat, her weapons, and her identity. Terciel could see the flash of blue and silver from where he stood. She drew her sword, a display that could have struck fear into the soul of anything living or dead in the Old Kingdom. But the other merely laughed so loudly that the sound reached even Terciel's and Andrael's ears, and discarded its own cloak as well.

The last light of the setting sun revealed the figure to be a man approaching middle age. He was skinny, though he did not appear weak. Once-blonde hair was streaked with gray, and his skin was unnaturally pale. Terciel mistook the strap of leather across his chest for a quiver of arrows until he looked closer and realized that it held not arrows, but seven bells. This was the necromancer they had sought.

But unexpectedly, Andrael choked out a startled cry. Before Terciel could stop her, she had kicked her horse into motion and begun running and slipping down toward the gates. The necromancer's eyes followed her, and Abhorsen turned just in time to see Terciel begin to come after her. Her shout of, "No! Go back!" went unheeded, and both of the children continued unchecked.

Terciel didn't fail to notice movement in the shadows all around him. As the sun suddenly set, the Dead were emerging from their hiding places. They were too slow to catch the horses, but they came in droves and formed an impenetrable wall behind Terciel as he passed them. Their escape was cut off.

He reigned in his horse beside Abhorsen's and kept an eye on the advancing wall of Dead Hands. They had formed a semi circle, trapping the group against the wall of the city. But he was distracted from the army surrounding them by Andrael, who had leaped off her horse and now stood before the necromancer. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were full of pain, disbelief, and irrational hope. Ignoring Abhorsen's and Terciel's shouted warnings, she walked toward the necromancer as if she were in a dream.

"Father?" she breathed, winded by shock.

"WHAT?" Abhorsen demanded.

"So he really was a necromancer after all," Terciel growled wryly. Abhorsen turned her head and gave him a deadly look.

"You knew about this?" she hissed.

Terciel replied with a wince, "I probably should have figured it out, yes."

Andrael's eyes flicked reluctantly away from her father to search Terciel's, pleading. "I don't understand…" she said, dazed. But any explanation was prevented by the necromancer, who suddenly stepped forward and drew Andrael into a deep embrace. She was stiff at first, but soon her arms wound around her father's neck and she began crying into his shoulder.

"My sweet girl," said the necromancer, and Terciel was surprised to hear sincere emotion in his voice. "I had hoped against hope that you would find me. You don't know how I've suffered, wondering what had become of you. I would have brought you with me, but after all that… happened… I couldn't risk going back into the town. I didn't want to leave you behind. Will you ever forgive me?"

"Yes! Yes!" Andrael sobbed without so much as a thought, "But what happened? Why d-did you have to leave? You and mother were just g-gone and I was so scared!"

"I'm so sorry," he crooned, stroking her hair soothingly, "I'll explain everything. Everything will be alright now that we're together again."

"Don't listen to him." Abhorsen's harsh voice interrupted the tearful reunion. "He's the necromancer we came here to defeat. He's laid siege to this town and killed the traders who used this road. He sent those Hands to kill us too."

It was shocking how quickly the necromancer's face flashed from love to rage. "Hold your tongue, witch!" he shouted, "You would try to poison my own daughter against me?" He took Andrael's face in his hands and spoke to her, pleading, "It's true that I've kept things from you. But you must trust me that I did it all for the best."

Abhorsen gave a derisive laugh. "Andrael," she said calmly, "He's not even alive anymore!" With a jolt, Terciel realized that she was right. The necromancer's skin was not simply pale from having walked in death, but actually tinged with green rot. There was also a jagged line across his throat where magic had failed to completely erase the traces of a mortal wound. Andrael noticed as well, and involuntarily flinched away from her father's embrace.

"I said HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" the necromancer screamed, and this time the Dead Hands responded to his murderous will. They surged forward, filling the gap between Andrael and her companions. Andrael and her father now stood in a tiny circle surrounded by Dead. The Hands at the front of the line menaced Abhorsen and Terciel, but Abhorsen barely blinked. She fingered the blade of her sword and stared down her enemy. The necromancer glared back at her. "Unless you think you and that child of yours can defeat my entire army alone," he said, "You'll let me speak to my daughter." Abhorsen was silent. Terciel, terrified, could only follow her lead.

Andrael stood miserably, her arms hugging her own shoulders protectively. "You're dead?" she whispered, "And you've killed people? Why?"

"My own death… was an unfortunate accident," he said. He reached out to take her in his arms again, but she took a half-step back and he let her be. "As for all of this," he went on, a sweep of the arm indicating his army and the gates of Sindle, "This is a plan that has been decades in the making! I finally raised enough Hands to take Sindle. A few more weeks without food and they'll be begging to surrender. And with this city as my base, I'll soon have an army big enough to conquer Belisaere!"

"You're trying to take over the Kingdom?" Andrael said, still dazed.

"For purely altruistic reasons," he assured her, "It's not as though I intend to set myself up as a despot. But the regency has stretched on for too long, becoming complacent and corrupt. There is no one of Royal blood left to take the crown. So when the regency falls, as it surely will soon, the Kingdom will be plunged into anarchy and chaos. Everyone will suffer. Unless someone deposes the regents before they fall to their own greed. Someone who can lead the Kingdom out of this age of darkness. I can see I've frightened you. These Dead Hands… I understand that they seem shocking to you. But necromancy was a necessary evil in order to gain enough power to save the Kingdom. I'm not evil. I'm still the father you knew!"

"You want to save the Kingdom…" Andrael repeated, and Terciel was alarmed to see that she was beginning to look hopeful again. "There… there's a prophecy about me. The Clayr saw that I would help restore the Kingdom and the Charter. Maybe… maybe I'm supposed to do that by helping you!"

"No!" Terciel called out from behind the wall of Dead, "Andrael, that's wrong and you know it!" But before he could go on, the necromancer gave a nod and five Hands sprang forward to drag Terciel off of his horse. He collapsed to the ground with a scream, and the Hands were about to descend on him.

"Please don't!" Andrael cried, grabbing her father's arm, "Please. They're good. You don't have to fight, do you?" The Hands let go of Terciel and rejoined the line. Terciel scrambled to his feet and saw that in the split second as he had gone down, Saraneth had jumped into Abhorsen's hand. She clutched her weapons now, wound as tightly as a spring. Terciel nodded to show her that he was unharmed, and she relaxed by a millimeter.

The necromancer appeared conflicted, but he patted Andrael's hand with a smile. "As long as they don't interfere with my plans, of course there's no reason for us to fight."

"Then that's alright," she said, her voice breaking and laughing with relief, "Everything will be alright. I only have one question left." She smiled, but the darkness in her eyes showed that she already suspected the answer. "Where's mother?"

The necromancer's face fell. "An… an accident," he muttered, "I couldn't have foreseen…"

"Where is she?"

"She followed me even after I told her not to. She didn't let me explain."

"She found out," Andrael said, tears streaming down her face, "And you killed her!"

"To be perfectly fair," he replied, his fingers going to the scar at his throat, "She killed me first."

Andrael's eye flicked over the faces of the Hands all around her. Her father guessed what she was thinking. "She's not one of them," he said, "I would never have done such a thing to her. Whatever you may think of me, I loved your mother. Just as I love you."

"Then who are they?" she said. Her face was full of grief, but Terciel could see in her eyes that the pieces were coming together.

"Just bodies," said the necromancer, "They died of various things. No one you know."

"But they're not enough to take the capitol," she said, "You'll need many more bodies, and souls. And you can't just wait for people to die of natural causes." She waited, but the necromancer was silent. She spoke the answer that he could not, "That's why you had to attack Sindle. You're going to kill them all."

"Don't you understand?" he pleaded, "They all would have died anyway. If the regency falls, everyone will die. Cities will crumble and their people will be scattered and lost. The people in this one small city… their lives are such a small price to pay to save so many others. Do you see? Please, I need you to understand."

"I understand, father," said Andrael, wiping away her tears even as fresh ones continued to fall, "I understand perfectly." She ran to him, letting him hold her once more. She pressed her hands against his chest and buried her face in the cold flesh of his neck. They stood that way for what seemed, to Terciel, to be an eternity. Then there was a flash of light as Andrael cried out, "Anet! Calew! Ferhan!"

The necromancer staggered backwards, a jagged hole in his chest and an expression of pure disbelief on his face. Terciel readied his sword. There was no avoiding it now. They would have to fight their way out.


	12. Abhorsen

For a moment, while the necromancer reeled from the pain and betrayal, his Hands stood idle. Without a strong will commanding them, they were confused and directionless. In that brief window of opportunity, Abhorsen tore through them mercilessly, cutting a path through to Andrael and her father.

She grabbed Andrael by the wrist and threw her so hard towards Terciel that her feet left the ground. The youths were left with their backs against the great, locked gate as the Hands surged into motion once more and encircled Abhorsen, leaving her alone in the middle of the fray.

With the necromancer's pain and confusion channeled through them, the Hands lashed out wildly and indiscriminately. Many of them fell upon Terciel and Andrael, clawing and gnashing their teeth. Terciel blew frantically into his Saraneth pipe while slashing at his attackers with his sword. Beside him, Andrael grappled with two Hands, turning her anger and heartbreak into berserker strength. Her defiant screams were drowned out by the overwhelming sound of battle.

Even as he fought the unwinnable battle for his life, Terciel couldn't help but be mesmerized by his teacher. Abhorsen, astride her horse, bobbed above the sea of Dead. Though their hands reached up for her on all sides, they fell easily under her sword and bells. She crashed through the waves of Hands that rose up against her, scattering their broken bodies over the rocks and snow, sailing over them and towards their master. The necromancer threw more and more Hands between himself and she, trying to buy himself time, but his soul was already having difficulty staying in his damaged body, and his orders were chaotic and confused. She would win, Terciel knew. Nothing could stand against her. But it would be too late, because he was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the onslaught of Dead. By the time Abhorsen reached the necromancer, he and Andrael would be dead.

But then, even as she wielded her sword and bells, Abhorsen also began chanting Charter marks. Terciel tried to concentrate on his own battle even as he watched the marks dance around her, weaving themselves into a spell. Marks for unlocking, and movement, and unsticking, and opening. He barely had time to wonder what she was doing before the grinding and squealing of frozen gears rang out behind him, and the massive gate at their backs began to inch slowly open. Soon, Terciel and Andrael were standing with their backs to a gap just large enough for a person to slip through.

But dividing her attention had cost Abhorsen her concentration. At that moment a Hand managed to duck her blade, climb up the side of her horse, and sink its teeth into her neck.

"ABHORSEN!" Terciel cried, and he began to run out into the melee to help her. But a skinny arm around his waist stopped him before he had taken a step. It was Andrael, and she was pulling him backwards through the gate, into the safety of the city.

He fought to free himself, but she held him with a desperate, iron grip. "I have to help her!" he choked.

"She's trying to save us, you fool!" Andrael panted into his ear, "Don't throw your life away!"

More and more Hands latched onto Abhorsen, tearing at her with their nails and teeth. Her blue surcoat looked black from the blood spattering it, and it hung in ribbons from her armor. But even with their weight dangling from her arms, Abhorsen continued to swing her sword. Each slice separated limbs from bodies, and the distance between her and the necromancer continued to shrink.

When the last Hand in her path had fallen, and Abhorsen finally stood face-to-face with her nemesis, she chanced a fleeting look toward the gate. Her eyes found Terciel's just as Andrael dragged him completely over the threshold and into the city. Before the Hands could follow them through, Abhorsen let go of her end of the string of Charter marks holding the door, and it slammed shut with a bone-shaking boom. The last thing Terciel saw before the gates shut was his aunt, his teacher, the Abhorsen, bringing her sword down on the necromancer before her. At the same time, the weight of dozens of Hands finally overcame her, and she fell from her horse into the waiting hands of the Dead.

The force of the gate shutting had thrown Terciel and Andrael to the ground. Andrael quickly scrambled to her feet, checking to make sure no Hands had made it inside. But Terciel lay in the snow. His legs seemed to have forgotten how to stand, and his lungs how to draw breath. He had seen so much death. It had been a part of him since he was a child. He had learned early that allies, friends, family, and even the Charter were fragile and transient things. But the one constant in his life had been Abhorsen. She had been so certain, and so unshakeable, that she had seemed immortal. In a world that made no sense, as long as he followed her he had direction.

So he followed her one last time.

Andrael saw Terciel's eyes close, and heard the crackle of the blood on his clothes freezing solid in an instant. "No, don't!" she tried to say, but he was already gone. Where her face had been there was only the gray light of the First Precinct, and the roar of the river replaced her voice in his ears.

"Good. You're here," said a familiar voice. Terciel spun to see Abhorsen standing beside him, staring at him with the same intense, appraising eyes he knew so well. He was about to abandon all dignity and throw his arms around her, but one stern glance stopped him. "Don't get so emotional, Terciel," she said, "You knew this day was coming."

"But not so soon!" he blurted out, "I thought I had more time. I'm not ready!"

"Of course you're ready," Abhorsen snapped, not unkindly, "I didn't train an imbecile. You finished the Book of the Dead years ago. You can use all seven bells. You're a better-than-adequate Charter mage. There have been many Abhorsens who took up the mantle with far less preparation and warning than you got. And they didn't whine about it either."

"I'm not whining about that, I…" he shouted, barely holding back his grief, "I'm not ready to lose you! You're all I have left!"

"What about the girl?" said Abhorsen calmly, "Isn't she coming with you?" She smirked at his speechlessness.

"How did you…" he tried.

"You two are quite a bit less subtle than you'd like to think," said Abhorsen, "And I'm a good deal less deaf."

"It's nice to see that dying hasn't prevented you from being smug," Terciel sighed.

Abhorsen finally showed a bit of tenderness, clapping a hand on her apprentice's shoulder. "I don't mean to make light, Terciel," she said, "I know you're hurt. But you've been hurt before, and one day you'll wake up and this will just be another loss on a long list. You have the skills to survive in this world. You have powerful allies. You live in the safest house in the Kingdom, and you're in love. That's not a bad way to be, so don't look so sad."

"But how will I know what to do without you to lead me?" he said. Abhorsen lifted her hand off his shoulder to smack him lightly upside the head.

"You can think for yourself, can't you?" she said, "You figure it out; it's your problem now. It was my problem for thirty-six years, but now I'm done. The only thing I have left to do is make sure that necromancer's spirit passes through the Ninth gate, and then follow him through myself. Understand?"

Terciel nodded. Abhorsen unclipped her sword from her belt and handed it to him. Then she lifted her bell bandolier off of her shoulders and draped it over his. With a few tugs at his clothing, she straightened him up. When she looked him over there was pride in her eyes. "Look at that," she said quietly, "I made you into a real Abhorsen, didn't I?"

Terciel couldn't see what she saw in him at that moment. But he was surprised to see something new in his teacher. Having taken off her weapons and her surcoat, never to put them back on, she suddenly looked so light and carefree. Her tired, lined face sparkled with some hidden youthful vigor. Terciel realized that he was catching a glimpse of a woman he had never known, who had given up her own name decades ago to be an avatar of the Charter.

"I would have thought you'd be angry to be dead," he said absently, "You always hated surprises."

"Well," she said sheepishly, "It wasn't much of a surprise after the Clayr told me how and when it would happen."

Terciel's jaw dropped. "They told you?" he demanded, "Then you could have found a way to stop it!"

She shook her head. "They were very clear on that point at least," she said, "To save the Kingdom, I had to take Andrael to the gates of Sindle and die there. Now the rest is up to her."

"But that's so… unfair!" said Terciel. She only laughed.

"I'll admit that that was my first reaction as well," she said, "But we both know that there are worse things than death. And as for me… I'm starting to like the idea."

"Of dying?"

"Of something new. This is the path I've been on since I was born. I didn't choose it. I didn't even particularly like it. But I made the best of it, and now I'm walking the very last stretch. After all the death I've seen, I'm looking forward to a little rest."

With a happy sigh, she began to wade towards the First gate. But Terciel still couldn't let her go. Neither of them had ever been the kind of people to talk at length about their feelings. They just assumed that certain things were understood. But it didn't seem right, somehow, to leave so much unsaid. "Wait," Terciel said, and the former Abhorsen turned to listen, "Mother died when I was so young, and you've taken care of me… You were more than a teacher to me. For a long time, I've thought of you as… a mother."

In two strides, she returned to him and pulled him into an embrace so tight that the bell bandolier dug into his chest. She whispered into his ear, "Wherever it is that I'm going, I'll miss you too." Then she let go just as quickly, and it was almost as if it had never happened.

They went their separate ways, she into the cold depths of Death and he back into Life, where the cold reached his bones but not his soul. He opened his eyes to see Andrael staring down at him, worried. He sat up slowly, adjusting to the strange weight of the bells on his chest. Andrael saw them there, and her face told him that she understood. She took his hand and helped pull him to his feet.

Some of the people of the town had ventured out of their houses, investigating the noise. They stood watching the pair at the gate, waiting to see if they would attack. Terciel stepped forward. It was his first step on a path that had been waiting for him since he had first cracked open the Book of the Dead.

"I am Abhorsen," he said, "You're safe now."


	13. After (Epilogue)

Abhorsen bowed his head against the cold rain. Though exhausted and freezing, his legs kept a steady rhythm. The bells swung against his chest with every step, but he barely felt them. In the years since they had been passed down to him, they had become like a part of his skin. Likewise, the sword at his side was like an extension of his arm. He had grown taller and stronger in those years, and his face had lost some of its openness and innocence. Only one person in the world remembered the boy he had once been.

Outside the walls of Sindle, after the siege was broken, Andrael and the newly-appointed Abhorsen had picked through the carcasses strewn over the rocks until they found the bodies of the two necromancers locked in a deadly embrace. Drawing the marks for cleansing fire over the battlefield, hand in hand they had each buried the last of their families.

From Sindle they had continued north to consult with the Clayr. But Abhorsen had soon come to understand his predecessor's distaste for the company of those strange seers. Despite all his questioning, they could not clarify the circumstances of their prophecy concerning Andrael. In fact, most of the time Abhorsen hadn't even been sure they knew who they were talking to. They had left their horses behind, and flew back to Abhorsen's House on a borrowed Paperwing.

Together, they had fought the tides of change as best they could. They had quelled uprisings, warded towns against the Dead, and battled powerful enemies at every turn. But the years had gone by too fast, and each one had brought new challenges and new threats. The regency had fallen, just as everyone had known it would. Abhorsen and Andrael had traveled to Belisaere to try to organize what remained of the government of the Old Kingdom, but it was no use. The once-proud capitol had long been descending into a town of beggars and thieves. Now no one but a true monarch could restore order.

"I must have failed," Andrael had wept, "There must have been something I was supposed to do that I missed. We've been working so hard, but things are only getting worse!"

Abhorsen had comforted her as best he could, but his false optimism had stuck in his throat. Inwardly, he had agreed that they had probably missed the narrow path to salvation somewhere along the line. On the journey home, Andrael had discovered that she was pregnant.

Eight months later, Abhorsen wandered the forests toward the Wall, searching for the woman he loved. He cursed himself for allowing her to leave the safety of Abhorsen's House, but the truth was that he needed her. She had become too powerful a Charter mage, too valuable an asset, to leave behind. Even the late stage of her pregnancy had never slowed her down. But now they had become separated, and the bloody streaks in the snow signaled the worst.

Abhorsen had been searching for hours when he finally saw the flicker of a fire through the trees. He hurried toward it, only to trip and sink to his knees as something drove the wind from his lungs like a blow to the belly. He had felt souls leaving their bodies before as little taps in his gut, but never like this. He knew without looking that Andrael was dead.

He dragged himself to the edge of the clearing, and stopped in the shadows to observe silently. He barely saw the gypsies who knelt around the fire, or their makeshift camp just beyond. His eyes would not leave the bony form beneath the rough blankets, the pale freckles on paler skin where the blankets ended, and the long, red hair that had once been so fiery, but which now lay spread on the ground, graying and muddy. For a body he knew so well, it was strangely foreign. Without a soul, it was nothing but flesh. She was truly gone. Abhorsen prepared to retreat quietly back into the forest.

"The child, too?" said one of the gypsies. Abhorsen stopped. In his grief, he almost hadn't noticed the tiny bundle held by the midwife. A baby. Her wounds had caused Andrael to go into labor prematurely, and she had given birth before she died. At that moment, Abhorsen understood what Andrael had known months before: that it was not Andrael herself who would complete the Clayr's prophecy, but her daughter.

The infant lay still in her wrappings, but Abhorsen had felt no death. She was not truly dead then; something had snatched her soul away. There was nothing he could do for Andrael. Even his love for her could not make him forsake the vows he had taken as an Abhorsen. But he could save his daughter.

Stunned and grieving, though no such emotion showed on his face, he approached the gypsies. He baptized the lifeless body of his child with the name her mother had chosen, and then he stepped into Death and retrieved her tiny soul.

By the looks on their faces when the child suddenly returned to life, the gypsies had clearly deduced what Abhorsen was.

"You are… you are…" whispered the midwife.

"A necromancer?" said Abhorsen, "Only of a sort. I loved the woman who lies here." He gestured back toward Andrael's still-lifeless body, and felt grief grip his heart anew.

Guilt tore at him. He should have protected her better. Should have sent her across the Wall as soon as he knew she was pregnant. Should have let the Clayr take her in. Should have left her back in Sindle, all those years ago. It would have been so easy to set her on a path to a better destination than this.

But he was reminded of something his aunt had said: Abhorsens don't choose their path. What choice had he had but to take up his ancestors' crusade? His blood had determined his destiny even before he had been born. But Andrael hadn't been bound by any such obligations. She had chosen, with full knowledge and wisdom, this path that she must have known would lead to her untimely death. She had chosen it out of bravery, out of virtue, and, of course, out of love.

Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker? It was more than a simple platitude. In the end, choice made all the difference. Who was he to question her choice, to think he could have changed her mind? She had chosen to remain by his side, and he could only love her the more for it.

"She would have lived if she had loved another," he said.

"But she did not."


End file.
